Tuesday, April 17, 2012

I still wave at trains



Long ago when all my politically correct 5 year old friends wanted to be firemen, I wanted to be an engineer-I wanted to drive a train! Just the thought of driving a mega-ton train, with hundreds of cars behind it has always captivated me. And it must be a freight train-no passengers unless they were the obligatory hobos. No this was to be a freight train, taking the goods to market and keeping America strong. I wanted to be the one sitting in the window, and I wanted to wave to all the kids who waved at me. To see America riding the rails. So I still wave at trains today-and they still wave back. It doesn't get much more American than that.
I will blame this on both my grandfathers. My Pappy used to take me to the train yard where he was in charge of checking all the numbers of the freight cars. I thought he owned them, or at least was the President of the line because he had a clipboard and he checked everything. And he said hi to everyone, and they said hi back. Calling him Mr. Murphy. He was important. I could see him riding the rails, waving to kids, one of them me. And I would tell my friends, "that's my Pappy," and they would be so jealous. Cool, huh? And my other grandfather used to take me down to Bangor's roundhouse on Friday nights after dinner. We would walk through the yards, check out the roundhouse, and he explained to me all about trains. Between my grandfathers, I thought trains were the coolest things in the world, and that my grandfathers knew everything, and everyone that was important. People even called them Mister-wow!
I can remember the trains rolling through Pen Argyl and past my Aunt and Uncle's house. Miles of coal cars, box cars, and tank cars. We knew all of them. They were loud, even better. And how sadly when they tore up the tracks when the coal mines went bust, due to the steel mills closing in Bethlehem. A deafening silence. The beginning of the end in many ways. I also remember the tracks between South and North Avenues-running from Elizabeth to Plainfield and beyond, past my house-and how after school we would stand on the bridge on Hetfield or Martine Avenue and watch them. Trying to count the cars, but never quite completing the task. Waving to the train as it approached, and without fail, the engineer waving back. Sometimes a blast from the horn, which we would think was meant for us, but usually just a safety warning. But it was personal-did you hear that, they were blowing the horn for us? As they went thundering below us.
But trains don't run like that anymore. No more cabooses, now they have computers. Whatever happened to the great names like the Jersey Central, Pennsylvania RR, Erie Lackawanna, and the Lehigh Valley? Names we grew up with, now gone and replaced with non-romantic names like CSX, BNSF, and others. Only the A,T, &SF-the Atchison, Topeka, and the Santa Fe remain. But mostly in my memories. Sing on Judy G!
But times change, and so do we. The things we learn early in life get filed somewhere in the past, as new and more exciting things replace them. Or so we think. From peer pressure, to social pressure, to life interfering, we now have a tendency to look back instead of looking ahead. Maybe the outlook of the future has something to do with it. Just watch the news, it ain't good. It seems we have no future-even Amtrak has never made money-another leisure activity of the Federal Government. No thanks. But yet I watch and wonder as people turn to the government for help instead of turning to God. I listened the other morning as a Christian friend told of how she needed money, and was asking her friends for help-to little or no avail. I listen as churches ask their people for money, or as missionaries tell us how they can't make it without financial help. It has to come from YOUR support, so dig into your pockets just one more time. And I sit disappointed as man relies more upon man for help, rather than going directly to God. Trust me, my finances are shaky on a good day-so why ask me for help? Wouldn't it make more sense to go directly to the one in charge? To go directly to God, from whom ALL blessings flow?
How would you feel if you were God, and had all the resources to fill all the needs of the world-and your people went to other sources first? How many times do you need to hear Matthew 6:33, "Seek first the kingdom of God, and its righteousness, and then all things will be added unto you..." before you believe it? But more importantly, do you trust it? As Christians we all claim to a belief in God, but do we trust Him? When Jesus says to trust and obey, why don't we? Has our relationship gone the way of the railroads, supplanted by government endowments, 401k's, loans, and good paying jobs? Have we let life interfere with the one who gives life-and gives it abundantly?
Why not go back to the the early times when we first believed, and trusted God-just because He was, and is, and will always be God? Let's go back to when we first met Jesus, and somehow knew our lives had been changed, and that He had everything in control. Let's go back to when it was personal-for like the trains, it wasn't the trains that left the track, or God who changed-it was us! So today I challenge you-pray for something, being so brave that only God can solve it. That it will fail unless Jesus can intervene. And that only God will get credit for it. For unlike the engineer who waved back at us, He waves first. He loved us first, while sinners, and still loves us today. Look for that familiar wave of Jesus, inviting you to spend time with Him. Get out of your roundhouse of pride, and trust God. And wave to others, and marvel as they wave back. Jesus calls it love-and that is why I still wave to trains. And why I trust God today more than ever. The important things are slipping away everyday, don't let Jesus be on your list of casualties. But more important, don't be on His list of those that turned away. For the next train may not be going in your direction.
Jesus Christ. Can I hear an amen? ALL ABOARD!
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com